


Bostock

by hannahrhen



Series: Frostiron Fluff [5]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Baking, Courtship, Developing Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Schmoop, Thor Is Not Stupid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-25
Updated: 2014-01-25
Packaged: 2018-01-10 00:25:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1152616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannahrhen/pseuds/hannahrhen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony sets out a lure with almonds and powdered sugar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bostock

**Author's Note:**

> A continuation of [Springtime in the Park](http://archiveofourown.org/works/804508) and [Reciprocated](http://archiveofourown.org/works/634946/chapters/2029007). 
> 
> I lived near a bakery years ago that sold a sweet pastry called bostock (which appears to be the same thing as Julia Child's [twice-baked brioche](http://www.alacartetv.com/baking/recipes/twice_baked_brioche.htm) recipe). I bought it every morning I walked by, but I've never seen it anywhere since I moved from that city. Still think (dream) of it from time to time, because it was heaven wrapped in wax paper.

So, the flower thing may have run its course.

That afternoon—that sweet, glimmering afternoon, sharing a tiny table at the cafe—Tony kind of thought things were going to move forward. Beyond flowers and maybe-flirting and into … whatever wicked Norse gods defined as … a thing.

(Tony couldn’t make himself say “dating” or “relationship,” partly because it was Loki, but mostly because _he_ was Tony Stark.)

But, you know. Things seemed on a certain course. A certain trajectory. And Loki had gotten a refill on his own coffee that day and watched with amusement (warmth?) as Tony scarfed down a slice of sachertorte, rambling between bites.

It’s possible he had been nervous.

Which was stupid. At least, well, depending on how you looked at it. Loki was unpredictable—violent (at times) and kind of crazy (most of the time). Tony had very good reason to be uncomfortable, to hear the occasional judder in his own voice … if that had been the reason why.

(That hadn’t been why.)

Loki had given him a few smiles, soft and even weirdly bashful, and Tony noticed that his own expert braggadocio failed a bit whenever Loki ducked his head and his hair curled past his shoulders, but he couldn’t be blamed for being unsettled. Loki had played with the stems of the zinnias, gently prying off a leaf or two, before he had finally excused himself.

Probably off to cause more trouble, Tony had thought, and he didn’t feel that weird about it.

He’d been sure— _sure_ —someone would kiss someone at the end. Had counted on tasting the powdered sugar still pressed into the corner of Loki’s mouth, knew he’d taste like sweetness and butter and almond, and they’d both stood at the end and stepped awkwardly toward each other, around the table …

But Loki had taken the flowers, only, swayed his other arm out in Tony’s direction, and then, clearly reconsidering, simply said “goodbye” and made for the door.

He walked. Didn’t disappear. Didn’t fly away.

Didn’t look back.

That … that sucked.

Tony didn’t … He didn’t want to play kiss and tell with Avengers enemies, necessarily, but … what a fucking tease, right? Or maybe—

Maybe it wasn’t what Loki was doing? Maybe Tony was just seriously misreading the situation, and those first tulips had just been a gift. Or a gag.

Tony wanted to forget about it. He tried really hard. Sort of hard. Kind of hard.

But then, here it was, two weeks later, and Tony was slamming a bowl of sliced almonds on the marble top of the kitchen island.

Because fuck-all if that wasn’t what Loki was doing. And if reciprocal flowers and flirting over a microscopic bistro table wouldn’t push whatever was going on to the … to the next thing that was going on, Tony would find another way.

He didn’t do things half-assed.

He knew fat was good. Loki liked fat. Almonds. Butter. He liked sweetness—nutty sweetness that would lure him in like Tony had set up a motherfucking ACME box with a stick underneath it, propping it up, waiting for the damned Road Runner to come by and slip inside.

He measured out the goddamned almond paste  _like a boss._

If Loki was going to—if Loki weren’t going to turn up and give it up (“it” being a kiss, because that would be a good start), Tony would bait the damned trap and wait.

The brioche from the bakery down the street was finally stale enough, according to his calculations, and he pulled out the wickedest knife he could find to slice it. Tony was determined, sure, but not determined enough to bake the damned bread himself. Just determined enough to make sure the bread was unassailable, to have JARVIS order him the best almond extract the city had to offer, and confirm the sugar was fair-trade and eggs laid by free-range chickens who had names and were lovingly hand-fed organic seed by hippies upstate.

JARVIS had suggested the recipe, and it sounded good. Good enough. Bostock, some kind of froofy French toast coated in almond and sugar and a hint of orange, and when Tony asked Jay to peruse the online recipe’s reviews, they sounded promisingly orgasmic.

Tony was used to being covered in grease and oil. The egg and orange zest and flour were a bit new, but it was all the same thing. He had baked before. Maybe once. With some girls in college who had gotten stoned with him and really suddenly needed to make a batch of caramel brownies to chase the nachos and Pepsi. (Unpromisingly, he hadn’t gotten laid that night, but then, he hadn’t really been up for it anyway.)

The beep of the oven pulled him from the pleasant memories, and Tony slid down from the countertop and found an oven mitt (they actually had some—huh) to extract the pan, confirm with a sniff that--oh, yeah, that actually smelled _pretty damned good_ \--and consider … uh, what to do next.

It wasn’t like he hadn’t thought ahead. He just hadn’t exactly settled on the plan.

The plan, as it turned out, was remarkably Wile E. Coyote-like, which, again, didn’t bode well, probably. But he put the warm slices of orange-scented bread on an oversized plate, on the … okay, on a table on the balcony, with a cloth under it to look welcoming, right?

And he waited.

God, this was a stupid idea. He had set out an altar for a god, for fuck’s sake—had even shed actual blood when the zester ran over his knuckles.

Twice.

But it wasn’t like Loki hadn’t made it obvious he was keeping an eye on Tony … right? He would see it, or smell it, right?

Fuck.

_Stupid._

He grabbed the nearest tablet, hoisted himself back up on the kitchen countertop, and settled in to wait. For a minute. A few minutes. And if he got himself a can of lemon-flavored sparkling water to go with the bostock slices he’d set aside, and maybe the minutes turned into half an hour—

He cringed when he heard the boom. Sure enough, before he could even slide from the counter’s slick surface to the floor, the glass doors slid open and—

The wrong Norse god came through, happily devouring a slice of pastry from one fist while he clutched Tony’s seemingly-tiny plated offering in the other.

Thor was delighted, goddammit. He practically glowed.

“STARK!” _And_ he had no compunction about talking through a mouthful of food. “This is a fine welcome. How did you know to expect my arrival?”

And, sooo …  _Great._  What was he going to say, exactly? He’d either get a shoulder pat from an approving older brother, or a punch in the face if, you know, Thor wasn’t big on the Big Gay Love?

(Not love, of course. He was just making a point. To himself. He'd settle for a Big Gay Kiss right now.)

So Tony bit his tongue, smiled tightly, and walked with Thor down to his rooms, catching up on the news from Asgard and Earth’s latest woes—and not talking about Loki at all, thanks. And, once Thor was settled in, Tony went back to clean up the kitchen.

But there’s the thing.

Thor … wasn’t stupid. However much Tony liked to chuckle over the Elizabethan lingo and Thor’s frustrated blinking over the barrage of pop-culture references thrown his way, as much as his Cookie Monster-esque consumption of food was totally amusing and awesome, the guy knew more about human behavior than just about anyone.

It was uncanny.

It was … superhuman.

Yeah.

And so when Thor wandered back up and found Tony on the couch in the living room, and when he obviously hesitated over what to say—welp, Tony was screwed.

Finally, Thor observed: “You weren’t expecting me.”

“You noticed that, huh?” Thor’s rooms hadn’t exactly been up to the usual hospitality standard—linens absent; old, cracked soap in the bathroom; and, okay, some dust. A smattering. Time to update the tower’s HEPA filters.

“But you let me think you were.”

Tony didn’t answer—just pulled a duck-face and kept tapping on the screen of his tablet. As a strategy, it was lacking, and he watched from the corner of his eye as Thor approached and sat, slightly crunching the sofa beneath his Asgardian weight.

“Is there something you want to tell me, Stark?” And Tony was a dumbass, because there was no way Thor hadn’t known about that day in the park, really, or seen all of Tony’s stupid-ass attempts to  _(Christ!)_  give Loki flowers, and Thor hadn’t said anything. To Tony or anyone else.

Still—plausible deniability was Tony Stark’s friend. He leaned back. “I will answer the question exactly the way you phrased it, with a resounding ‘no.’”

Thor just snorted at that, and the weirdness in the room dissipated as Thor’s entire form obviously relaxed. “Okay, then,” he said. “When you are ready to tell me … You may find you have an ally. In your efforts.”

And, that? That was unexpected. Tony laid the tablet on the table, took a long breath, and turned to look at Thor, who only watched him impassively.

“Thank you, but … I am nowhere near ready to have this conversation, just to be clear.”

Thor shrugged. “And I suspect I would wake to a knife in my throat if I pressed the matter.”

And Thor spoke like he knew what he was talking about; hell, he'd probably woken up to a knife at his throat more than once from that particular He Who Shall Not Be Named. Still, Tony played along. “Aw, come on—I’m not that vindictive,” he said, laughing, willfully ignorant, and was treated to one of the best “don’t shit a shitter” faces he’d ever seen, and he’d seen a lot (especially in the mirror).

After a while—a long while of decidedly not pressing the matter, thanks—Thor took off to go see Jane Foster, and Tony …

Tony was left to his own half-assedly-clean kitchen, empty floor, and not enough fucking work to distract him from the mess going on in his brain. Tomorrow was time for plan B. Today was denial and coming up with shit to do. He headed to the workshop to lose himself in about sixteen different inventions and a prototype cloaking device for Rhodey’s suit.

He was woken up in early morning hours by a knife to his throat.

“The fuck—” He scrambled up, grabbed at the wrist in his face, and flung it away. Was still feeling the adrenaline-fueled cold shocks down his spine even as he recognized the cheerful, evil laugh. “Fuck, _Loki.”_

“Just seeing if you were paying attention, Stark,” and that voice was honey, and JARVIS brought up the lights a bit without being asked as Tony sat up. Loki wasn’t armored, no, but he was fully dressed, which meant he had Tony at a disadvantage. The sheets pooled around Tony’s ratty Apple Newton promotional shirt—worn just for irony. In private.

He watched as the knife spun in Loki’s grip and disappeared. Okay, kind of cool, but, “And if I hadn’t been, you were going to kill me?”

Loki looked Tony over and clearly found him lacking. “Not tonight.” Then, he added, “Though I suppose I owe you some pain for courting my brother right before my eyes.”

And here came the crazy.  _“Courting—?”_

Loki crossed one arm over the other and glanced down at the fingernails of his hand—which would have captured perfect disdain if he weren’t cross-legged at the foot of Tony’s bed. Glowering, Loki explained, “You fed him.”

Oh, Jesus. This was only getting better. “Hold the goddamned phone—you really think I—” And then he stopped, because of course Loki was smiling, and he’d tilted his face up to Tony. Oh. Yeah, _okay._ Tony sighed. Puffed up his chest, embarrassing shirt or no, and mock-sniped, “It was a lot of work. I _zested_ shit." He held up his abraded fingers. Loki offered a mockery of a sympathetic look, softened by a tiny smile. Tony lowered his hand and toyed with the blankets. "I’m sorry you missed it.”

“I am, too, though it’s not unexpected.” He unfolded his legs, rose up, and walked on his knees up toward the head of the bed. “My brother always did reach the table before I did. How do you think I remained so slender in comparison?” He settled, kneeling, next to Tony at the headboard. “I hope I’ll have another chance.”

“I might, uh … “ And Tony’s mouth was dry, which he’d blame on the bourbon nightcap and four hours of sleep. He tried again. “I might have the ingredients to make chocolate chip cookies. That  _seems_  like something we would have. You know. If you want to hang out for a bit.”

“I  _could_ ,” was the answer, and Loki made an exaggerated show of considering it. “Or I may have a taste for other things first.” He twisted himself around until he was sitting against the headboard, shoulder to shoulder with Tony.

And that was the thing. If Thor wasn’t stupid, Loki was … well, Loki was like Tony. And if Thor knew almost everything there was to know about human behavior, from a thousand years of witnessing it …

Loki’s smile was still soft, and, after a moment, a little shy. An irresistible lure. And he knew  _exactly_  what he was doing.

Tony raised his eyebrows. Snorted. “Smooth.”

“Sweet,” Loki countered.

And if their first kiss, closed-mouthed and on the bed, wasn’t all that, due to the bourbon and morning breath, the second one? The one after Tony had washed himself up, finger-combed the furrows out of his hair, set a cup of butter out to warm, and turned on the oven?

That one …. was delicious.

**Author's Note:**

> [Find me on tumblr](http://hannahrhen.tumblr.com), gettin' all excited about Hannibal coming back!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [April Fools' Day](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1405687) by [i_am_a_mole_and_i_live_in_a_hole](https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_am_a_mole_and_i_live_in_a_hole/pseuds/i_am_a_mole_and_i_live_in_a_hole)




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